


Touch

by bbytaebin



Category: Triple H - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Mental Illness, Partying, Slight Hyuna/Hyunseung, Suicide, self harm mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 17:48:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10791627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbytaebin/pseuds/bbytaebin
Summary: He was like his touch, fleeting and erratic and passionate, and it was all she could think of.





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the MV for 365 Fresh by Triple H

She bathed in him like sunlight, breathing in and watching him as if her eyes leaving him would cause him to disappear.  
He was everything she wanted in life, everything she’d dreamt of but never had. He was like his touch, fleeting and erratic and passionate, and it was all she could think of.  
Even in the middle of this club, men grinding on her and women sliding their arms against hers and Hwitaek with a hand across her lower back, all she could see was Hyojung’s figure against the bar.  
Hwitaek attempts for her attention multiple times, but she can’t not see Hyojung long enough to listen.  
Hyojung turns, like she called out to him with her gaze, and grins slyly over at her, as if telling her to come over.  
She does.  
She wiggles away from Hwitaek who is still calling for her, and finds herself walking to between Hyojung’s legs, smiling up at him.  
“Having fun, babe?” He smiles at her, voice low against the bass of whatever the DJ is blaring, but she hears him like it’s just them two there.  
In her mind, it is.  
She smiles as her answer, leaning in closer to his lips.  
“I’d be having more fun if it was just the two of us,” He smirks down at her, lips tilted to the side in amusement, “right?”  
She giggles, wrapping arms around his waist, pulling him down from the bar stool to the dancefloor.  
They dance for what seems like minutes to Hyunah, but it’s in reality hours that pass by to the beat of cheap stereo equipment.   
He runs his hands all over her body, and she lets him.  
He could ask her for anything now and she would do it.   
But he doesn’t ask her anything, he never does. All he does is hold her without the pretenses of being together.  
He holds her like they’re going to go back to the motel and fuck, which they probably will, but without the conflictions of being in a relationship.  
Hwitaek loves her, she knows he does.  
She just can’t find herself to be anything but a friend who sometimes makes out with him.  
She knows Hyojung is a ticking time bomb, and it’s not long before he goes off, but what can she do?   
She’s wholeheartedly in love with him. More than Hyunseung.  
She remembers pieces of Hyunseung like fragmented memories. He comes back to her in senses, like an old cologne or the smell of sex and alcohol, but he was so beserk.  
Maybe that’s what drew her to Hyojung.  
He’s like Hyunseung, but better.  
But alive.  
Hyojung laughs above her, Hwitaek clouding her vision of wherever she was staring off into space, and she looks up at him.  
“You’ve been thinking hard like that a lot lately, anything you’d like to share, princess?”  
She shakes her head, because she’s really not in the mood to bring up Hyunseung―as if she is ever in the mood to bring up her dead ex―and smiles at him, letting go of his waist finally.  
“You sure?” His tone starts darker, almost menacing as he looks at her, shrugging off Hwitaek’s warning hand on his shoulder.  
“I was w-wondering what I was going to eat after this, I’m h-hungry.”  
Hyojung perks up, standing straight and wrapping an arm around her and Hwitaek’s shoulders simultaneously, bringing them towards the mouth of the club, drinks not paid for but smile never leaving his face.  
“Let’s go.”  
They run out quickly, much to the bartender’s dismay.  
Hyunah’s shoes limit her speed and mobility, so Hwitaek hoists her over his shoulder and keeps running, laughing and guffawing in the moonlight.   
When they finally lose the bartender, Hwitaek whines into the alleyway.  
“Yah, that’s one of the last bars in Seoul we can visit without getting refused or the cops called, what’s the deal? We have money-”  
Hyojung reveals himself from the dark, the streetlight illuminating his sharp features and grin, eyes closed in silent laughter.  
She watches from the side, as if he’s a mirage in the desert.   
He looks so perfect like this, laughing wildly with only a streetlight keeping his frame from getting lost in the dark.  
He’s utterly perfect in her eyes.   
“That would be no fun, would it?”  
Hyojung looks her in the eye, pushing his hand out for her to grab, heaving her up from where Hwitaek left her on the ground.  
She smiles and rolls on the balls of her feet, turning to Hwitaek, who’s giving Hyojung one of the biggest stink eye’s she’s ever seen.  
“Can I have my shoes, oppa?”  
He almost trips over himself handing them to her, and she smiles at him.   
They walk a little bit on the street, Hyojung stopping to get food from a street vendor who looked a little shady, but then again the men she affiliates herself with are the shadiest.   
Hyojung is so drunk even Hwitaek is worried for him, watching him sway and sing and slur his speech drunkenly.   
“Y-Yah, Kim Hyunah,” he points at her with a shaky hand, “you're very sexy.”  
She looks at him in shock, like she hasn't fucked him before, because a drunken slur is a sober truth.  
“Thank you.”  
“Am I sexy?” Hwitaek poses, laughing airily at himself.   
Hyojung muses, thinking for real.  
“Yeah. I guess.”   
Hwitaek’s mouth is agape.  
She just laughs.   
She can’t wait to hold that over him in the morning.  
“Don’t say that kind of stuff!”  
Hyojung just giggles, turning and falling over slightly onto Hyunah, dragging his feet against the pavement in bliss.  
“I love you guys.”  
This is the one drunken thing he rambles tonight that she can’t believe.  
As much as she wants to, she knows he doesn’t have the capability to love anymore.   
He gave up so long ago, almost the way she did.   
She can still feel times when Hyojung is here, when Hyojung feels, but they’re few and far between, and maybe that’s another reason she “loves” him so much.  
She to him is nothing but something to hold instead of a razor to his skin, but he to her is a masterpiece she is unable to hold out of fear. Like if she grabs too tight or not enough, he’ll crumble.  
Someone said all fine pieces of art are made by those who are dying.  
Maybe Hyojung is the art and the artist.  
“I think one of these days,” Hyojung smiles, “I’ll do it.”  
Hwitaek muses, knowing exactly what he means.  
“Me too. Probably.”  
They talk about their impending doom like it’s the weather, and it makes Hyunah’s heart race.  
Hyunah looks up to the grassy hill they’ve managed to stop at, and before she can comment on what they’re saying, takes off up the side.  
She can hear them following her, stumbling more often than not, but ignores them.  
When she finally flops down on the top, she holds their hands, shoes forgotten somewhere and pain forgotten somewhere else.  
She laughs, airily and bitterly, looking up at the moon, like it’s mocking her.  
“When you do, I’ll be there too.”  
Hwitaek protests, but she blocks him out, asking simply, “Don’t you ever wish you were a bird, that you could fly?”  
They stop, and wonder to themselves.  
“Sometimes, when I’m drunk, I pretend I’m back home. With Hyunseung.”  
They don’t ask who he is, and she’s almost disappointed.  
He lives on differently in her words than he does in newspapers and news articles and magazines.  
In there, he’s a cruel monster, but he’s like that in her mind too.  
Just for different reasons.  
They all talk about how he’s killed so many people and stolen from even more, but she remembers him differently.  
He was a monster, for sure.   
He left her first.  
Even before he died, she wanted his all and all he gave her was the part begging for sex and revenge.  
She shakes her head, clearing his face from her mind, turning over to look at Hyojung, who’s essentially asleep.  
“Hwitaek, let’s do something fun.”  
“What?”  
She shakes Hyojung awake, and call a taxi to their motel, where she grabs the keys to the truck and forces Hwitaek to drive to the drive-in, playing some old romance she remembers her and Hyunseung watching on the couch once.  
Not that it matters.  
They finish the movie, being loud and causing a ruckus, speeding out to do whatever delinquents do in the dead of night.   
Hyojung is now fully awake in the backseat, sitting forward and watching the roar of the police lights and listening to the wail of the sirens that whip after them.  
Half his body is hanging out the window, but no officer shoots.  
When they start towards the parking garage, Hyunah knows this is probably the last venue they’ll visit.  
“Hwitaek, Hyojung, I think this is it.”  
She turns to them, and smiles her biggest smile.  
“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”  
Hwitaek leans over, bowing slightly in his seat, eyes off the road.  
“And you, m’lady.”  
Hyojung makes a noise of affirmation, and that’s the best she’ll get.  
When they get to the top of the parking garage, it’s bittersweet.   
“I think this is the final parade.”  
They step up to the guardrail, eyes ablaze with unshed tears and determination.  
She grabs Hwitaek’s hand as Hyojung grabs hers, and they all look straight ahead, the yells of officers and the running of boots the soundtrack to their mercy.  
She can hear the radio of their beat up truck still playing an old drama soundtrack, and she smiles pitifully, counting to three under the noise around them, and throwing herself forward with her two best friends.  
Her two soulmates.  
Dancing until the end, as she feels the wind flow through her hair, and the rush of freefalling, she feels Hyojung’s hand slip from hers, but Hwitaek’s hand stays firmly in her grasp.  
Like always.  
Hyojung is like his touch, fleeting and passionate.


End file.
